


𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎 ~ 𝐂𝐌𝐁𝐘𝐍

by imagineaworlds



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Throuple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineaworlds/pseuds/imagineaworlds
Summary: 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.~~~~𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐧. 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐨.
Relationships: Elio Perlman / Oliver / Original Character(s), Elio Perlman / Oliver / Original Female Character(s), Elio Perlman / Reader, Elio Perlman/Original Character(s), Elio Perlman/Original Female Character(s), Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver (Call Me By Your Name)/Original Character(s), Oliver (Call Me By Your Name)/Original Female Characters, Oliver / Reader, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Kudos: 17





	1. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

marco polo. a call me by your name short story (fanfic).

elio x reader x oliver.

part one. based on the first book and movie.

two chapters. one epilogue.


	2. (𝟏)

The bright, green grass tickled my legs as the wind passed by. In the shade it was still hot, but it was made cooler by the hasty breeze that tangled my hair and rustled the tree leaves above. I hadn’t been waiting too long before they appeared, watching their approaching bikes in the distance turn from small specs to large beings. A smile appeared on my face as Oliver joked around by riding his bike without hands, the bike’s wheels rattling against the rugged terrain, and he almost fell.

Elio rolled his eyes as he jumped off of his bike and walked it from the path into the grass. Oliver caught up to him and they laid their bikes down in the shade of the tree next to the one I was under. Elio fell on his back and rested his head on my thighs. “Ciao, amore mio,” I said as I started playing with his curls.

“Ciao.”

Oliver sighed as he sat next to me in the grass. “It’s such a beautiful, isn’t it?” Both myself and Elio nodded in response. “I wish I could stay here forever.”

We looked up at him. “Why don’t you?” I asked him. “Elio’s family loves you, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you stayed for the summer. Right, Elio?” He didn’t say anything. I rested my head on Oliver’s shoulder, “I don’t want you to leave. We didn’t have enough time.”

“I know. I know,” he took my hand. “But we have a few more days left. Let’s make of it what we can.” Elio stood quietly, but his movements were quick and harsh, as though he were angry with something or someone. No one said anything as he took off his swim trunks and started for the water. “He’s mad at me,” Oliver said regretfully. He shook off the thought and stood up. Once he helped me off of the ground, we both took our swimsuits off, myself a little more self conscious than the overly confident Oliver. “Come on.”

We ran to the water and jumped in. The cold didn’t bother any of us. Elio was swimming around, a forced smile on his face, and I swam to him. He took me in his arms as we floated in the water. “Non essere arrabbiato con lui ha una vita in America che lo aspetta. Se non vuole restare, non possiamo costringerlo.” [Do not be mad at him. He has a life in America that waits for him. If he does not want to stay, we can not force him.]

Elio looked over at Oliver, who could not understand us. “È una tortura essere innamorati.” [It's torture being in love.]

“Lo so. E potrebbe non significare molto, ma tu hai me. Sono qui.” [I know. And it might not mean much, but you have me. I'm here.]

Elio pushed my wet hair out of my face, “Significa il mondo per me, amore mio.” [It means the world to me, my love.]

Suddenly, we were splashed by water. We both wiped our eyes and looked to the culprit, Oliver, who was laughing hard. “Hey, you two. Stop gossiping about me and get over here.” I stood up and started swimming circles around Oliver as Elio kissed him.

“Marco,” I laughed as I swam away from them, my eyes closed. I heard Oliver and Elio part as they started swimming in different directions, but they were still trying to be discreet. They responded with a loud, “Polo!” It sounded like Elio was closer, so I started for him, “Marco.” Elio was closer, I could hear him more clearly than Oliver. “Marco.”

In my ear, Elio whispered, “Polo.” His lips tried to press against mine, but I dodged his attempt and tagged him.

“Marco!” I continued. By the sound of it, Oliver was against where the grass met the water. “Marco.” And just before I could reach him, someone’s arms wrapped around my stomach and picked me up. “Elio!” I exclaimed as I opened my eyes and kicked my legs out in protest. While I was being held hostage, I looked around for Oliver, and I was right… there he was, smoking a cigarette, his back pressed against the grass. He watched us play in the water. “Gli faremo una festa. Una festa sontuosa per dire addio. E poi la prossima estate, tornerà a vederci. Non saranno solo sei settimane, ma tutta l'estate.” [We will throw him a party. A lavish party to say goodbye. And then next summer, he will come back to see us. It will not just be six weeks, but the whole summer.]

Elio set me back on my feet in the water. “Lui ci ama, giusto?” [He loves us, right?]

“So che lo fa.” [I know he does.] I said with confidence.

But I also said it because I didn’t want to admit that Oliver was leaving, and I wasn’t going to see him for at least a year, if not more. And Elio… Elio would leave Italy at the end of the summer, and he wouldn’t be back until Christmas. It would just be me and all of my thoughts of the summer the three of us spent together. Those thoughts already consumed my every waking moment, but I worried what would happen when there were no new memories to remember. Would the old ones fade? I hoped not.


	3. (𝟐)

Elio had called the house, saying his dad wanted to talk with all three of us. My heart was racing in my chest, and I didn’t say anything back to Elio as the line just stayed silent. Then he asked if I was still there, and I croaked out something, but I can’t remember what. I must’ve asked if his father knew about the three of us. We weren’t exactly quiet when I went to their house, or when they came to mine.

To my question, Elio said, “Non penso di sì. Deve trattarsi di qualcos'altro. Sembrava eccitato di parlare con noi.” [I do not think so. It must be about something else. He seemed excited to speak with us.] I asked when his dad wanted me there, and he said for dinner. When we said goodbye and hung up the phone, I shouted through the house that I was headed to the Perlman’s, not really worried if my parents heard me or not.

I threw on one of my nicer outfits, but not nice enough to make it look like I spent too much time worrying about my appearance. Truth was, I was crawling in my skin with anxiety. What would the Perlman’s do if they found out? Would they stop coming to Italy— or just not bring Elio? I considered that they might be more worried about their son having a relationship, both physical and emotional, with a man. If Oliver got in trouble, I wouldn’t know how to react… 

As I ran down the steps, holding my yellow sundress down, I grabbed my purse and went outside. I jumped on my bike and started pedaling as fast I was willing to go before my dress would start flying upwards when the wind got caught under the skirt.

Elio’s house wasn’t too far from mine, but the trip seemed longer because of how much I was dreading the upcoming event. As the sun was setting, I could see the Perlman’s backyard light up, and a table was full with people, except for one empty chair between Elio and Oliver. Mr. and Mrs. Perlman were the first to see me, as they were facing the biking path I was on, and they waved me over.

With smiles on their faces, Elio and Oliver turned, and Oliver patted the empty seat beside him. I returned the smile, calmed by their welcome. Mr. Perlman stood after I got off of my bike and he walked around the table to greet me, “Bonjour, mon chéri.” We kissed both cheeks, and he went back to his seat.

As I went to my seat, Oliver pulled it out for me, “You look beautiful,” he whispered under the sound of the loud conversation at the table. 

“I will say this in English so that everyone may understand,” Mr. Perlman began, holding his wife’s hand. “As you three know, Oliver only has a few more days left with us in Italy.” Elio and I looked at each other out the corner of our eyes. “Well, I’ve been contacted by a colleague in Rome, and they say they need some help with a bit of research. There’s no one I trust more to go in my place than Oliver.”

Oliver blushed, “Oh, well, thank you, Professor.”

Mr. Perlman smiled, “But, having seen you three grow so close, I couldn’t bear to separate you any sooner than when Oliver is scheduled for his flight. So, we’ve decided that why not send the three of you on a weekend away.”

“It would be a nice get away,” Mrs. Perlman jumped in.

Before anyone else could say anything, Oliver responded to their offer, saying that we would love to go.

And that was how we ended up in a hotel room, all three of us. It was the last night before Oliver was to leave for America. In the morning, we would walk to the train station— I shook off the thought.

In the room we were staying in, it had one queen bed for the boys, and a twin bed for me. We pushed the beds together so we could all lay down together. Wrapped in each other’s arms, we recalled our favorite memories from the summer. My head was tucked under Oliver’s arm, his hand clasped together with Elio’s. Elio was pressed against my side, all three of us trying to get as close to one another as possible.

“You will visit, though, won’t you?” I asked Oliver.

For a moment, he stayed quiet, and I worried what his answer would be. “I’ll try…” he responded quietly. “I don’t want to think about that. Please.”

It was about three in the morning when I felt my exhaustion finally creep in, and I was too tired to keep my eyes open any longer. Before I fell asleep, I switched with Elio, who still wanted to talk with Oliver. While they were up later, apparently getting no rest, I fell asleep.

In the morning, I woke up to Oliver drawing figure eights with his thumb on my hip. He was cooing me awake, and Elio was in the corner getting dressed. “Morning, sleepy head.”

I looked around and saw all of Oliver’s things were packed, and his suitcase was by the door. “Tell me I’m in a dream. Tell me this day hasn’t yet come.”

Oliver brushed my tangled hair out of my face and kissed me. “Dai.” [Come on.]

I got up and started getting dressed. Elio put on his favorite shirt that held meaning between him and Oliver. “Billowy”, they called it. While the three of us were very close, and we all loved each other, they shared something truly special. Their love for each other was more true than anyone else’s. In some ways, I envied them, but I also knew that they cared for me just as much, though they just showed it differently.

I put on the sundress I wore to dinner that night, the one Oliver loved on me, and we headed out for the train station. I was glad that Elio and Oliver had time to themselves the night previous, because at the train station they wouldn’t be able to hold hands or kiss… or say “I love you”… We sat on benches in the shade before the train arrived, and I had to sit between them so others wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

As the train approached, it whistled loudly to announce its arrival. Elio offered to carry Oliver’s bag, but Oliver said that it wasn’t a good idea. “Do you have your passport?” Elio interrogated. Oliver nodded. “All of your toiletries?” I gave Oliver a knowing look. Elio was trying to find any reason for Oliver to stay.

As others got on the train, I hugged Oliver tightly and kissed both of his cheeks. “Ti amo,” I whispered. Oliver knew little Italian, but that he understood. “Be safe. Call when you can.”

“I will,” Oliver forced a smile, trying to not seem as sad as he really was. We all were. After parting from Oliver, I stepped to the side to let Elio say his goodbyes. 

Elio visibly held himself back from leaping into Oliver’s arms. I watched as Oliver tried not to cry into Elio’s shoulder, both of them not wanting to break down in front of everyone. “Elio…” he muttered into Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver chuckled, or maybe it was a sob slipping through. “Oliver.” That was another thing they shared, calling each other by their names. They tried to keep their embrace brief, but every time they parted, they seemed to go back to each other. Finally, when the conductor called for the last few passengers, Oliver forced himself away from Elio and got onto the train. Like he always said, “Later.”

I hugged Elio’s side as we both cried. We watched the train pull out of the station, and slowly go further into the distance. I hid my face in the crook of his neck, and he squeezed my hand tightly. “Andiamo a casa.” [Let’s go home.]

“Lo amo. Non gliel'ho mai detto. Ho scelto di stare zitto e morire ... quando avrei dovuto ammettere come mi sentivo veramente.” [I love him. I never told him that. I chose to stay quiet and die... when I should have admitted how I truly felt.]

I looked up through the tears, “Lui sa. E anche lui ti ama.” [He knows. And he loves you, too.]


	4. (𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞)

Early August was when I said goodbye to my best friend since I was little, and one of my lovers of late. Elio and I were surrounded by our parents as we hugged and cried into each other’s shoulder. Losing Oliver was hard enough, but I had Elio there after; but with Elio now gone, I was alone.

Before he left, his parents on the train and calling after him, I whispered, “Marco.”

Elio laughed through a small sob, “Polo. Even across the ocean, I’ll always respond.”

“We’ll always find each other.” Elio smirked as he kissed my forehead. “Ciao, bello,” I smiled up at him.

“Ciao, bella.” He grabbed his bags and joined his parents on the train. I turned to my mom, and she held me as we waved goodbye to the Perlman's.

That was over four months ago. The snow started falling in mid-November, and started sticking around the end of the month. As Christmas approached, I grew more excited about seeing Elio again, but I knew that Oliver wouldn’t be coming. Maybe that was what hurt the most… the aftermath of missing someone so much. It stays with you, day and night, in every thought and every dream. Every movement you make causes you to wonder if they were doing the same thing, and if not, what were they doing?

For months those thoughts consumed me, but more about Oliver, knowing that I may very well never see him again. Elio, however… Elio, I knew would come back to me. So, even in the cold, I begged my mom and dad to take me to the station to greet the Perlman’s. I could hardly contain myself as I saw Elio’s nose pressed against the window to look for me. When he saw me, he bloated his cheeks, crossed his eyes, and stuck out his tongue to make me laugh. It worked.

Before the train came to a screeching halt, Elio was already at the door, waiting to get off. Once the train was stopped, Elio opened the door and jumped out, and he ran to me. We collided in a tight embrace. “Mi sei mancata,” [I missed you.] we said to each other at the same time, and we laughed. Behind me, my parents were saying hello to Elio’s parents.

We pulled slightly from our hug so we could look each other in the eyes, but we were still embraced. “Marco,” I said as I brushed a curl out of his face. He had grown out his hair since the summer, so now it was longer and softer.

In that moment, Elio looked like he wanted nothing else but to kiss me; but alas, he kissed under both of my ears, instead. It wasn’t time for anyone to know about us yet. “Polo,” he whispered in my ear. “Mi hai trovato.” [You found me.]

“Non vieni con noi per cena?” [Won’t you join us for dinner?] Mrs. Perlman asked my family.

“Ci piacerebbe,” [We would love to.] my mom said.

“Venire.” [Come.]

At the Perlman’s house, my mother and Mafalda were in the kitchen, while Mr. and Mrs. Perlman were in their study. Elio invited me up to his room to help him “unpack”; but the second we were alone, Elio had me pinned against the wall and he was showering me with kisses. “È stata una tortura senza di te,” [It was torture without you.] he kept repeating, his hands tickling me.

His hands then trailed lower. “Stiamo per essere scoperti, Elio.” [We’re going to get caught, Elio.]

Elio nuzzled his head in the crook of my neck. “He hasn’t called. I haven’t heard from him once. Did he call you?” I shook my head. “Does he hate us?” I shook my head again. “I feel as though he does…”

I didn’t know how to respond, so instead I said, “I should go downstairs. I promised my mom I would help them make latkes.” I kissed his lips one more time before leaving him in his room.

In the kitchen, Mafalda was making a salad, my mother was cutting and shredding the potatoes for me to fry. We gossiped about whatever we wanted, and laughed at each other’s comments, and scolded others. Dinner was about ready, the latkes nearly done when the phone rang. As it was not our house, neither myself or my mom thought about answering it. Elio yelled that he would take it because his parents were busy with work.

We went about our business as Elio talked on the phone, and then I heard the Perlman’s join the call. My attention was caught when I heard them cheering Oliver’s name. I looked to my mom, who told me to go and she would take care of the rest. I wiped my hands clean on my apron before quickly untying it and throwing it on the table. I followed Elio’s voice to where he was on the phone.

“They know about us,” he said into the phone before I could reveal myself from around the corner. I decided to stay hidden. “How?” My heart was racing in my chest. What was Oliver saying? Why was he calling now, and why did Elio look upset? Elio took a deep breath, “I have to go.” And he quickly hung up. As much as I wanted to talk to Oliver, something he said made Elio clearly upset, and he wiped away a tear that ran down his cheek. Before I could walk to him to ask what was wrong, he got up and went into the dining room. I quietly followed him, and watched as he sat in front of the warm fireplace, ablaze with crackling flames.

As I approached him, Elio tucked his knees close to his chest, and put his face in his hands. “Cosa ha detto Oliver?” [What did Oliver say?] I asked quietly, trying not to disturb him. 

Elio, still hiding in his hands, said, “È fidanzato. Ad una donna americana. Qualcuno che ha visto e spento per due anni, ha detto.” [He's engaged. To an American woman. Someone he's been seeing on and off for two years, he said.]

Suddenly, my limbs went numb, and my heart fell into my stomach. And for a moment, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and the world was spinning around me. Every memory, happy and sad, came rushing back to me, only making things worse… And I couldn’t say a word. I just broke into tears. We had given so much of ourselves to Oliver. We both loved him, and we were waiting for him… then he was gone. The pieces of ourselves that we gave away weren’t coming back, and without it, how could we move on?

I hid my red face and teary eyes in Elio’s side, and he adjusted to hold me close to him. We both cried, but tried to stay silent as to not worry our parents, who were likely listening in the next room. “They know,” Elio sobbed. “Both of our parents know about us and Oliver.” In just a few minutes, everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how I would survive it. Maybe it was a good thing Oliver hadn’t called until we were together. If I heard the news alone, I might have died from a broken heart then and there. But there was Elio, there to console me, and I there to console him. “The worst part…” Elio croaked as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, “he called me Oliver… which means he… lui mi ama ancora.” [he still loves me.]

With the snow falling outside, and the table set for dinner, we were supposed to sit around a full table with our families, and put on a good face, but we couldn’t. Mrs. Perlman was the first to come to us, and she saw how close and distraught we were. She said, “Oh, miei amori,” [Oh, my loves.] she cupped Elio’s chin. “Aller. Allez en haut ... rejoignez-nous quand vous le pouvez.” [Go. Go upstairs… join us when you can.] As Elio helped me off the ground, Mrs. Perlman looked at us with sad eyes, “Farà male. Forse per un tempo molto lungo ... ma ricorda, anche lui sta male. Sappi che siamo qui per te e ti amiamo entrambi molto.” [It will hurt. Perhaps for a very long time... but remember, he is hurting, too. Know that we are here for you, and we love you both very much.]

Stay silent and die in pain, or speak out and live in happiness. That was what she always said… but that day it felt like speaking out meant living in pain. And I didn’t know when I would find my voice again.


	5. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

marco polo. a call me by your name short story (fanfic).

elio x reader x oliver.

part one. based on the first and second books.

two chapters. one epilogue.


	6. (𝟏)

Two years had passed since that wonderful summer in Italy. Elio still spent the summers with me, but everything was different. Without Oliver, we were just those friends that slept together with an older man. We stayed in this limbo between friends and partners for another year before I told Elio that I would be going to New England for college. I hadn’t told him that I applied there shortly after Oliver left, but put it on hold for a year. My mother and father knew why I wanted to go to America, so did Elio. After Oliver left, I dreamed night and day of seeing him again… of pressing my lips against his. I loved Elio, I had ever since we were children, but we were now adults, and I had to follow my heart. I knew that if Elio couldn’t love me back without Oliver there, I would go to Oliver.

Elio was mad at me until the next week when his mother finally sat the two of us down in her kitchen with Mafalda cooking away. Mafalda had gotten slower, more tired. We all worried about how much longer she and Anchise would be around. But after Mafalda took her leave from the kitchen, Elio’s mother began with a stern look.

“I miei amori ... Cos'è questo bisticcio? Eh? Notte e giorno ti sento discutere nella stanza di Elio. Il tuo povero padre e io non possiamo dormire. Amore, basta. Vuole andare all'università, ottenere un'istruzione,” [My loves... What is this bickering? Huh? Night and day I hear you arguing in Elio's room. Your poor father and I can not sleep. Love, enough. She wants to college, get an education,] she shrugged, “Mazel tov, amore. So che ti senti tradito. So che ti senti sconvolto perché Oliver se n'è andato, e così anche lei ... ma questa è la sua decisione, non la tua. Quindi, per favore, basta con le urla e i combattimenti. Amatevi perché la vita è troppo breve per non farlo.” [I know you feel betrayed. I know you feel upset because Oliver left, and so is she... but this is her decision, not yours. So, please, enough of the yelling and the fighting. Love each other because life is too short not to.]

Elio and I looked at each other. His mother was a smart woman, and she always knew what was going on under her roof, she always knew when there was tension between me and her son. Everyone knew that she liked the idea of us being together, and she despised us fighting. But Elio was old enough to make his decision, and his decision was that he couldn’t forgive me. He knew why I wanted to go to New England, and he felt threatened that Oliver and I would go on without him. If only he would listen. Multiple times I had insisted that Oliver and I would do no such thing, but he didn’t believe me. No one did.

But after his mother talked to us, after she knocked some sense into him, Elio came to my house one hot afternoon to apologize. He was quiet and fidgety, just like when we were kids. I had learned that ever since the summer with Oliver, Elio was much more confident with himself, but not that day… He knew that he messed up, and he was afraid to admit it. But he did apologize, and what a great apology it was. We spent all day wrestling in the sheets, and by sunset, I had come to the conclusion that we were no longer in limbo.

“Ti amo,” [I love you,] I whispered as I played with his curls. “E ti chiamerò ogni giorno che sono all'università. Starò lontano da Oliver, se questo è il tuo desiderio.” [And I will call you every day I am at university. I will stay away from Oliver if that is your wish.]

Elio shook his head, “I don’t want that. I know that you won’t be able to avoid him, and that’s alright. He was your lover, too.”

“He’s married, amore.”

Elio stiffened and pushed my hand away from his hair. “I know…”

“I didn’t intend to upset you,” I panicked.

“You didn’t. But you’re right… he’s married… And he never came back like he promised.”

The room fell silent as Elio and I curled up against each other. I didn’t want to think about Oliver and the heartbreak he caused us to endure. I wanted to continue thinking about how Elio and I were no longer in limbo, and that he had admitted that he trusted me enough to go to New England for college.

So that August, as the summer was coming to an end, Elio and I boarded the same train together. As I said my goodbyes to my family, Mr. Perlman took the liberty of taking my luggage on board. My entire life was packed into just a few suitcases, and I was ready for America.

As Elio and I held hands on the train, I thought about the first summer the Perlman’s brought their son to Italy. I couldn’t speak English, and he couldn’t speak Italian, yet we had become the best of friends. We spent that entire summer communicating through signals and pointing at random things. And the following summer, he started teaching me English since his mother had already started teaching him Italian. That was when I fell in love with him.

Now, I was off to America where everyone spoke English, and no one spoke Italian. I loved the idea already. I loved the idea of seeing Oliver again, too. New England was a fresh start where no one knew that I slept with some older American man and my best friend. In America, everyone slept with everyone… or so Elio told me.

Elio went with me to New England, while his parents went home. He helped me find my way around, and even got me situated in my dorm room. I met my roommate, Sidney. She was a nice, beautiful, young girl who was wise beyond her years. She welcomed me to America and constantly insisted that she was in love with my accent and that we were becoming fast friends. Elio couldn’t help but laugh in the corner until Sidney had taken notice of him. She instantly wrapped him in a hug, too.

“Is this your boyfriend?!” Sidney exclaimed as she ran towards Elio. “Is he Italian, too?”

Elio looked at me with wide eyes, and now it was my turn to laugh. “No, I’m American,” he said as he pried her off of him. “I’m going to music school in New York.”

Sidney gasped, “And you came all this way for your girlfriend? That’s so sweet.” Elio and I blushed. “How did you two meet?”

Elio answered while I liked the idea of pretending to not know any English for the sake of avoiding that conversation. “I spend every summer in the village where she was born. We met when we were children.”

“Awe, childhood sweethearts. Isn’t that adorable!”

That night, after Sidney managed to pry out that I really did know English fluently, she took us out to some clubs. America was so much more different than our small village in Italy. Back home, we could drink, fuck, and smoke; and no one would turn our way. In America, all three were frowned upon for people our age. Sidney had to sweeten up to a bouncer or two just to get us into a club where they didn’t sell alcohol. I was baffled, and Elio was so amused by my confusion.

By the third club, Elio wanted to go back to his hotel. His flight was early in the morning, and he wasn’t willing to stay up all night with me like we did with Oliver. So he said goodnight and left me alone with Sidney. Finally, she managed to get us into an actual bar, and she insisted that it was because we didn’t have a man following us around. The bouncers liked it when girls were alone, she explained. I turned up my nose at the thought.

This bar was a “deep dive”, Sidney called it. She explained that only locals knew about it, and that the Tuesday night we attended was  _ Open Mic Night _ . Sidney also had to explain what that meant to me. We took a seat in the back as she told me that anyone with any talent— singing, comedy, dancing, poetry, etc.— could get up and perform. I was so fascinated by this American culture where they applauded anyone, even those with no true talent. At home, we just played the radio at the “deep dives”.

A woman stood at the microphone with the spotlight shining on her as she read a poem from her violet floral journal. She really wasn’t any good, but when she was done, everyone cheered and snapped for her, regardless. And as the cheering died down, a waiter put two beers on the table in front of us.

Sidney looked up at him, alarmed, “We didn’t order those.”

“No, but he did,” the waiter pointed to a man a few tables over.

Sidney and I looked over to the man the waiter was pointing at, and we noticed that he was sitting with a gorgeous brunette woman. As we stared at him, I started to recognize him. Even with the dim lighting and his facial hair, I could see that it was Oliver.  _ Our  _ Oliver. My heart sank as the woman beside him turned and waved to us. And then he got up as if he was coming over to talk to us.

I pulled at Sidney’s sleeve, “We need to leave.”

Sidney looked at me with shock, “What? Why?” I only continued to pull at Sidney until she was out of her chair and we were leaving the bar. “Come on! What was that about?”

Once we were safely outside, I looked at my new friend with a pale face. “Oh, Dio…” I threw my head into my hands and tried to not think about him. I tried to think about Elio and how happy I was with him… but that only led to me thinking about us with Oliver all those years ago. I felt sick. “We have to go before he comes looking for us.”

Sidney looked over her shoulder at the front of the bar where the stern looking bouncer was keeping watch, “How do you know Professor—”

“How do you know him?!” I shouted. I was going to throw up.

“He’s going to be my teacher this year. I make an effort to know all of my professors before the year starts. How do you know him?” she asked again.

I threw up on the pavement, and Sidney yelped. She jumped back, startled out of her own skin. We hadn’t drank anything all night, so as I was coming up with some sort of excuse, I knew that it wouldn’t be the alcohol. “He was Elio’s father’s intern one summer in Italy. We were…” I hesitated, “friends…” I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and stood tall. “I knew he was in New England, I just didn’t expect to see him so soon.”

“Hey, are you alright?” a rough voice asked. It wasn’t the bouncer or Sidney, that much I knew. We both turned, and I saw Oliver towering over me. He was still so tall, and I was still so short. I hated it. “Let me get you some water, or soda, or something.” Oliver reached out to help me stand steadily after I almost tipped over.

“I’m fine, Oliver,” I spat as I brushed him off.

“ _ Oliver _ ?” Sidney questioned. We were friends, she had to remind herself.

This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t believe it for a moment… I was going to be sick again. All of those memories came flooding in after being dammed up in my mind for so long, it was making me dizzy. All of the bike rides, all of the kisses, all of the secret fucks, all of the quiet admirations… Fuck. I threw up again, this time in the street. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare.

Elio and I had a plan. I knew that there was no avoiding Oliver, so we created the  _ Oliver Plan _ . My first week of classes, I was going to find Oliver’s office and inform him that I was at the school, but I had no intentions of reconciling or getting with him without Elio. We had a plan, a solid plan. And then after I would tell Oliver all of that, I would leave his office before he could say anything or I could second guess myself. Our plan was perfect, but it burst when Oliver sent those drinks over.

“Let me take you home,” Oliver insisted as he rubbed circles on my back. I shuddered and thought about the night we spent in the city. Elio and I were too drunk, but Oliver was only tipsy. Oliver spent the whole night rubbing circles on Elio’s back while he puked, and I just continued drinking. I wanted him to stop… but I also didn’t want him to stop… I was so confused… We knew this would happen if I was around him too long. “I’m taking you home.”

Sidney tried to intervene, “I can take her back to our dorm. We’re on the outskirts of campus, on the third floor. I can make it with her.”

Oliver shook his head, “She’s too sick to go back to the dorms. She’ll come to my place for the night.” Oliver turned and pulled out a notepad from his back pocket. As I stood up again, I noticed the woman he was with had come running out of the bar with all of their stuff. “Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” he assured Sidney. He tore out a piece of paper, “This is my home address and home phone number for the morning.”

“I don’t want to go with you, Oliver. Take me to Elio’s hotel.”

Oliver froze. Then I saw him look at the woman he was with. “Elio’s in town?” I nodded, almost trying to rub the fact in his face. I felt cruel. I knew that I could have Elio, but he couldn’t. “We shouldn’t worry Elio. We’ll call him in the morning, and then he can come pick you up.”

“Why do you insist I go home with you, Oliver? I’m not going to fuck you.”

The woman he was with stepped forward and wrapped her arm with his. I finally understood who she was… his wife. “I insist because we can take care of you at our house, you’re obviously sick.”

“It’s from the drinking.”

“You didn’t drink,” Sidney said.

“You didn’t drink,” Oliver echoed, proving his point. “Listen, we have medicine, and some chicken matzo ball soup that is to die for.”

“Babe,” the woman said to Oliver. “Her face— she’s so pale, and she’s sweating. She probably has a fever.”

“It’s from the plane ride. I’m just jetlagged,” I argued, trying to spin a different excuse.

“You’ve obviously never been on a plane,” Oliver said sarcastically with a laugh. “That’s not how jetlag works.”

I couldn’t deny that I felt like a furnace and I felt like puking again. Maybe he was right. So I gave in. I told Sidney goodbye as she stumbled over her words to search for an explanation. She had only known me less than twelve hours, and there I was, a strange Italian girl who was getting into a car with our professor and his wife after I had just puked all over the street outside of the bar she had just introduced me to. She had a reason to be very confused.

Oliver and his wife helped me to their car. He helped me lay down in the backseat while she got the car started. “So… you know her from your trip to Italy?” his wife asked. “Is she Vimini?”

Oliver shook his head, “No. She’s older than Vimini, she’s Elio’s age.”

“Oh, she’s the one.”

“She’s the one.”

“I’m the one,” I kicked Oliver’s arm.

He threw his hands up in surrender and closed the car door. As he settled into the driver’s seat, his wife took his hand. “I’m sorry I just invited her to our home like that,” he apologized. “I always had a soft spot for her.”

His wife squeezed his hand, and I almost threw up again. “It’s no problem. If she’s your friend, then she’s my friend.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Oliver kissed her quickly and started driving.


	7. (𝟐)

Oliver and his wife lived in a small apartment building a few minutes south of the bar. As we left downtown and headed into the suburbs, I started to think about how different my life could have looked if only I had been a few years older. I thought that maybe Oliver and I… No… That wouldn’t be fair to Elio. He was just as much a part of the relationship as I was. 

Once Oliver had parked the car, he rushed to help me out of the backseat. He didn’t even ask before lifting me into his arms, and he started carrying me inside. I felt too tired and too sick to rebel against it. His wife was right there, just watching us; and then I started to ask myself how much she really knew about me and Elio. Did Oliver tell her the truth, or did he spin a lie to save his relationship with her? I had to assume that she thought we were only friends.

As Oliver’s wife shut the front door behind us, she asked where she should put my purse. Oliver said he would take me and my purse to their guest room, and that she should go get ready for bed. His wife didn’t argue while she took off her coat and went to their shared bedroom.

I looked up at Oliver, and I tried so hard not to stare at his lips or too deeply into his eyes. Every part of him was a dangerous trap. I was falling down a slippery slope by just letting him take me home, and letting him carry me. I should have just gone to Elio. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him as he took me to the guest room.

Oliver shivered under me, and he finally let out a sigh. This sigh had been resting in him for years… so many years since he had left Italy. It was a sigh of relief and comfort. He missed me, he said. I didn’t want to believe him. “I’ve missed you more than the moon misses the stars during the day.” I could feel myself falling again. Stop. Please. “I wanted to go back. I wanted to call. I wanted you and Elio.”

“But?”

“But I have commitments here.”

I told him just how much he hurt us when he left and never came back. He understood. He said he was sorry, and I could tell he meant it— but it didn’t change anything. “Elio leaves in the morning. I should tell him where I am so that he doesn’t worry.”

“I can do that,” he said as he laid me down on the bed. He sat down beside me and wiped my forehead with a finger, “No fever.”

“Of course not.”

“Then why were you throwing up all over the street?”

I stayed silent.

Oliver’s face went pale, “You’re not—“ he glanced lower on my body.

“No!” I interjected. “No…”

“Why are you here?” he asked quietly. He didn’t want his wife to hear, and I didn’t blame him. “Of all places, why here?” I wanted to lie to him, but I knew there was no use, so I admitted the truth. “How is he?” I told him the truth. “And you?” I lied. I asked how he was, and he told me, but I couldn’t decipher whether or not he was telling the truth. “We have a little boy now,” he said quietly. I felt sick again.

“Where is he?” A friend’s house, he told me. They’re expecting and wanted to host a little one year old, just to get their bearings. “His name?” He told me. 

Silence hung in the air as we stared at each other. I tried not to think about how badly I wanted to press my lips against his, how much I wanted to taste his spit once more. Would he taste like liquor? I wondered. Or like his wife? Or did he taste as he always had— as peaches. 

Oliver stared back at me, his gaze switching between my lips and my eyes. It was obvious that similar thoughts were racing through him as well. Still, after two years, nothing had changed between us. How I missed this.

“We shouldn’t,” he said, almost as a warning to himself. I was in no position to be obligated against this, unlike him. He made a promise to his wife when he said,  _ I do. _

“We shouldn’t,” I echoed. Suddenly, the house phone started ringing. Oliver’s attention turned, and I feared that he would leave me. Without thinking, I reached out for him just as he made a move to stand up. He looked back at me and sat back down. He didn’t move away or retract his hand from my touch. “Your wife could come in at any moment.”

He nodded, “I know.”

The phone rang again, and his wife picked it up. She asked who was calling so late at night and why. “Oh!” she said with shock. “Yes, yes, she’s here.” Elio. I made a move to climb around Oliver and run to the phone, but he caught me just as I was about to fall off of the mattress. Unfortunately, though, my force and speed was enough to send us both over the edge of the bed. Oliver pulled me close to avoid me getting hurt against the wood floor. I ended up on top of him, our faces close.

He gulped, “We shouldn’t.”

I started dropping my body closer and closer to him, our chests and hips pressed together. Our faces were so,  _ so _ close. “We shouldn’t,” I repeated. Another centimeter and our lips would be touching. “Marco.”

“Polo—“ he barely got the word out before his lips were smashed against mine. His arms wrapped around my waist, and I could feel how hard he was. 

“Oliver?!” his wife called as her feet started pulling her towards the guest room. When had she gotten off the phone with Elio? I quickly rolled off of Oliver, and tried to help him off of the ground. He pulled himself up, and I fell back onto the bed just before his wife came in. She halted in her tracks, suspicious. “I…” she looked at Oliver, who was trying to hide his tight pants. “Your friend called. He said he got our number from her roommate. He also said he cancelled his flight, and that he’ll be here in the morning.”

Oliver nodded silently, trying to get his own wife to leave. “I’ll be in bed soon.”

His wife slowly made her leave, wondering if she would catch us cheating the moment her back was turned. We stayed innocent until she left and closed the door behind her. Like Elio’s mother, she knew what was happening under her own roof, yet she didn’t say anything. Was this how Oliver was? Did he bring women and men home, take them to the guest room, then fuck them into the mattress while his wife laid awake in the room next door? The thought ran a shiver down my spine. I wanted him as he had taken me two years ago. I wanted him as I remembered how he took my virginity that summer. I wanted him as his hand uncovered his erection.

“Two years…” he whispered as he sat on the corner of the bed. He ran his fingers through his long, blonde hair. I wanted my fingers to tangle the strands again. “And, yet…”

“And, yet…”

“I remember a time when you said more than repeating what I said,” he laughed.

“I’m afraid that if I say more, I’ll say the wrong thing and regret it all.”

“You could never say the wrong thing. You never said enough.”

What was he insinuating? That I was shy or that I never said the one thing he wanted to hear me say. _I love you!_ _I love you, Oliver! Make love to me as you had those years ago in Italy!_ I wanted to shout. _I love you!_ My eyes pleaded for him to understand. _Elio loves you, you fool!_

“Though, I suppose I never said enough, either.”

So he didn’t think I was shy.

“I remember everything,” his voice shook, he was attempting to hold himself back. “Don’t you?”

I nodded, “Every second.”

“That’s why you were sick.”

I nodded again, “Yes.” I watched as he stood, and something selfish left my lips, “Don’t leave me,  _ Elio _ .” I did not share the joke or whatever it was they shared between one another, but I knew what it meant to them. I knew that was how they shouted  _ I love you, you fool!  _ to each other. I knew that he would understand, but his eavesdropping wife outside the door didn’t.

Oliver looked to the door, worried his wife would barge in any moment now. He spotted her shadow seeping through the crack beneath the door. He leaned over the bed and kissed my forehead gently. “Sleep well,  _ Oliver _ .” With that, he left me.

The following morning, I was woken up by the sound of the door buzzer. Oliver and his wife must have already been up because before I knew it, someone had pressed the buzzer back, which unlocked the door downstairs. Not a few minutes later was there a knock at the apartment door. 

As the door opened, I realized that the lone window in my room was also open. When the door knob jittered, the smell of smoke entered my room through the window. It quickly dawned on me that Oliver’s wife was smoking on the patio outside. I didn’t blame her. The fact that two of her husband’s former lovers were in her home would make any sane wife nervous. I didn’t blame her that she didn’t want to meet Elio. Meeting me was fine— she had perhaps run into many of Oliver’s former lovers before— but Elio… that was a different part of Oliver’s life that I was sure they had never discussed. Things that went unsaid were better ignored. 

“Oliver,” Elio’s voice echoed in the hall.

“Elio…” Oliver was aware that, despite her being outside and preoccupied with a cigarette, his wife was listening closely. I wasn’t sure if they kissed, hugged, shook hands, or even touched at all before Oliver showed Elio to the guest room where I was. Oliver carefully turned the knob, worried that I was still asleep. “She threw up twice last night but had no fever. I think it was just shock.”

“Shock doesn’t make you sick like that,” Elio defended.

“It can in extreme cases.”

They spoke like old friends rather than old lovers. It unsettled me. The door opened and I slowly sat up. My head was throbbing with a headache. “I’m okay,” I quickly said before Elio could get the chance to worry. “Sta bene, amore mio.” [I’m fine, my love.]

Elio hurried to my side and kissed me passionately. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was worried about me or if it was to make Oliver jealous. Either way, I kissed him back with even more passion, and held his face in my hands. “Che cosa è successo al piano?” [What happened to the plan?] he asked me.

“Sidney mi portò da un ‘open mic night’, e mi mandò da bere. Ho provato ad andarmene, Elio.” [Sidney took me to an ‘open mic night’, and he sent drinks over. I tried to leave, Elio.] I looked down at my hands. “Ci siamo baciati.” [We kissed.]

Elio nodded, “I assumed.”

Oliver stood in the doorway and listened to us. He knew what we were saying, there was no denying. Yet, he didn’t say a word about what we had said to each other. “You two look happy…” he finally said. “I’m glad.”

“No grazie a te,” [No thanks to you.] Elio bit. What a wicked thing to say. Elio fell back into himself, ashamed he had let the words escape him. He hadn’t meant it, and we all knew it.

“How’s your father?”

“He’s leaving my mother soon, most likely after my first semester in college,” Elio told Oliver. I did not know this. This shocked the room. “I know it, he knows it, and my mother knows it. It was inevitable. I was the only thing still gluing their marriage together, and now that I’m gone, they have no reason to stay miserable.”

_ Why so glum? _ I wondered about Elio. Why was he acting and speaking like this?

“I changed my flight to tonight,” Elio told me. “Let’s get you home.” As he turned to Oliver, I pushed myself off of the bed. “Thank you for helping her last night.” Oliver nodded. “Dai,” Elio encouraged me. I grabbed my purse off of the bedside table where Oliver had left it the night before. Elio hurried to the front door and impatiently waited for me to slip on my shoes.

“Stay for lunch,” Oliver insisted. His wife joined us by the door. She wrapped her arm around the small of his back, marking her territory against the threats that had invaded her home.

“We can’t, but thank you,” Elio quickly declined.  _ Why so rude?  _ I sent him a look. This was Oliver, standing before us, inviting us to spend more time with him… How could Elio be so… unlike himself…

In the hallway, Oliver watched us walk to the elevator while Elio repeatedly pushed the down arrow button. I waved goodbye to Oliver, and before he could return the gesture, his wife called him inside. The elevator arrived, and the ride down with Elio was silent. When the doors opened to the lobby, he ran out and headed straight for the doors. The moment he was outside, he fell against a grey marble column and started sobbing. I ran outside to catch him and hold him. “Oh, amore mio…” [Oh, my love…] I whispered before kissing his curls.

“Seeing him felt like dying all over again. I don’t know how many times I can die before losing my mind,” he said between broken cries. “I don’t want to die again.”

“You won’t,” I reassured him. “You won’t…”


	8. (𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞)

Nearly twenty years had passed since I had last spoken to Oliver. He had reached out only once in that time to invite me to his second son’s Brit Milah— a Jewish tradition to celebrate a son’s birth. I hadn’t responded to the invitation, and never reached out or heard from him again.

With Elio, a shorter amount of time had passed, yet it felt like a millennium. We had split up about two years after I graduated university. We had brought another man into our relationship in an attempt to replace Oliver— to fill the hole he had left in our lives. But when he wanted kids, and for Elio to father them, and he didn’t agree, things quickly fell apart. Elio had anticipated that I would side with him and follow him wherever life would lead him next, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There was no denying that I wanted kids, and I wanted them to be Elio’s… but if that wasn’t what he wanted, then that was his choice. But I was happy where I was, and  _ we _ wanted kids.

So Elio left.

We wrote frequently to each other. On the first of every month I would send out my letter to him, and would receive his no longer than ten days later. We did this every month for years. And when my son was born, I invited him to the Brit Milah. Then, when my daughter was born, I invited him to the private celebration we were holding. When my son turned thirteen, Elio came to the Bar Mitzvah. And when we decided to move to Israel, he came to our goodbye party. My husband and I still loved him dearly, and I knew that I would love him endlessly until the day I would meet Hashem. But our lives had taken different paths, and where I sought to fill the hole Oliver left with children, Elio sought to fill it with countless one night stands that meant absolutely nothing to him.

And just as Elio’s parents had done, my husband and I separated once both of our children were off at college. I moved back to Italy, and he stayed in Israel. Elio was in Paris, and Oliver was God knows where in the world. I moved back into the Perlman’s home when Samuel got sick. I helped Miranda keep him alive for as long as we could, and helped her raise their son.

The first day I returned to Italy, I went to visit Sami and Miranda. It had been years since I had seen them— and the shock on my face when I discovered they named their son Oliver had them laughing for hours. “You look as Elio did when we told him!” Sami laughed. “We thought he told you!” Miranda joined in. Then they insisted that I live with them. The following day I wrote Elio and told him what had happened.

A few years later, long after Samuel had died, Elio wrote home about a man named Michel. He said he was in love again for the first time in a  _ very _ long time. He said that this man was twice his age, yet Michel seemed as youthful as him. Every weekend they went out to Michael’s family home in the country hours outside of Paris. There, they discovered a mystery about this man Michel’s father knew.

I was happy for Elio. He had finally learned to love again and left this fad of “occasionals” behind him. And when I responded to him the following month, I told him that I wished to meet Michel, as would Miranda and Little Oliver. I didn’t hear back from Elio that month.

Come May, Italy had started warming up again in preparation for the summer tourists. That month I had received a letter from Elio once more— about six months after his last one. He said that he and Michel had broken up following their conclusion of the investigation into Michel’s family secrets. He said that his tour of America had gone well, and that he was planning on returning to Italy to see Little Oliver again. He asked simple questions like how my children were, how Miranda and Little Ollie were, and if I had met someone since we had last spoken.

In June, I responded that my children were fine, Miranda and Little Oliver couldn’t wait to see him again, and no. Seven days later, Elio returned from his American tour. When his taxi arrived, I ran outside to greet him as we had done with Oliver when we were children. He dropped his bags and caught me when I jumped into his arms. We stayed like that for a while until he started carrying me inside. The taxi driver rolled his eyes and drove away after being paid what he was owed.

We stumbled upstairs to his parents' old room, the only available one, the one I had occupied. He asked where Miranda and Oliver were, and I told them they had gone to the market to get all of his favorite foods. “We have maybe an hour alone,” I told him.

“That’s enough,” he responded. He fell on top of me when we reached the bed. In what seemed like an instant, we were both rid of our clothes.

“Marco,” I whispered.

“Polo,” he whispered back before he entered me.

After, when Miranda and Little Ollie returned, but she told him to stay downstairs with her, Elio held me in his arms, fearing that if he let go, we wouldn’t see each other for another decade. He was certainly older, though so was I; but he looked tired. He looked as if the world had drug him through the mud so many times that he had given up. And perhaps he had.

I told him that his mother was planning on moving in within the week. His mother, like his father, had become fragile and weak, and her mind was gone. There was only so much paid nurses could do, and I figured with my experience with Samuel, I could help her. So, Miranda and I cleaned out the room on the ground level and prepped it for Annella to move in.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She’s old.”

“Do you think one day Little Oliver will look after us like you have looked after my parents?”

I shrugged, “Do you think we’ll grow old together?”

“Do you think I’d ever leave you again?” he questioned with pain in his voice.

“Never. You found me, didn’t you? You continue to find me, no matter what. I think it’s foolish and a waste of precious time to let go again.”

“I agree,” he hummed. And then we made love once more.

By dinner time, Miranda had stormed in, catching us wrestling in the sheets; and demanded that Elio go downstairs and say hello to his little brother who has been waiting to see him all day. Elio and I quickly got dressed, acutely aware that Miranda was watching us closely, because if she looked away again, we would jump on each other like a pair of rabbits.

Elio took my hand and led me downstairs as if it weren’t my house now, too. He brought me to the dining room where we heard Oliver playing with his toys in front of the fireplace— the very same one Elio and I had cried in front of twenty years prior.

When we entered, Oliver looked up at us, and Elio stopped dead in tracks. After I had accidentally run into him, I could see the expression on his face. He stared at Little Oliver as if he had seen a ghost.

“He looks exactly as how I picture Oliver did as a child,” Elio whispered to me, his palm starting to sweat.

“Elio!” Little Oliver yelled as he jumped up and ran to his older brother. Oliver hugged Elio’s knees, and it caught Elio off guard.

“He’s exactly as Oliver was when he was a kid.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” It was a mother’s instinct to know, something Elio could never entirely understand. But I knew that when Elio looked at Little Oliver, he saw just Oliver— and not in the same way, but in the way that Elio knew that no matter what, he would protect Little Oliver from the cruel world.

After Annella moved into the room downstairs, Elio moved in with me in his parents’ old bedroom. Sometimes, I would walk by Miranda’s room and remember the days when Oliver, Elio, and I would lay the day away in bed while tangled in each other’s arms. We’d all be covered in sweat and cum, and it was the height of our lives.

And though Elio and I came close to those times, it was never quite the same without Oliver. I wished that the three of us would have stayed in that bed forever, that we had never left it. Perhaps if we never left, we wouldn’t have gone to Rome and said goodbye, we would have never gotten the call that he was marrying an American woman, and our lives would never have ventured down separate paths. I was so sure that if we had glued ourselves to that mattress in protest against time and fate, the three of us would have lived our entire lives together. Maybe, just maybe, I would have had both Oliver and Elio’s children. Perhaps we would already have grandchildren if we started early enough… and perhaps we would have loved our lives in Italy. Oliver, a professor at a university in Rome, Elio a music teacher at a local elementary school, and I… well… I imagined my life much different than how it had ended up.

After school, I had become a lawyer, just as my father had been— but if we never left that bed, maybe I would have never gotten an education. I might have stayed at home with our many children, sipping on wine and sun bathing until my men came home to comfort me through the night. It sounded like a dream— but only that.

Elio caught me daydreaming while staring at the bed. He snuck up behind me and wrapped his arms around my body before swinging me in a circle. I laughed and held on for dear life. He told me he had a surprise. I wondered if it was a good surprise. He asked me what kind of surprise was a bad surprise. I said it would be if he told me that he was leaving and marrying an American woman. Neither of us laughed at my failed attempt at a joke.

He started pulling me along downstairs and out towards the orchards. He had been working hard on restoring the orchards after the harsh winter. He said that he hoped that it would help his mother remember some of the summers they spent there if she could see her trees again. And though I wasn’t entirely convinced, I supported him. It was his mother, and he was refusing to let go— and who could blame him?

“We are not making love out here,” I told him flatly. “There are too many bugs.”

Elio smirked, and I wondered what he was up to. “Good luck,” was all he said before letting go of me and running into the maze of orchard trees.

“Elio?!” I called. “Seriously, what is this?”

No response.

“Elio!”

“That’s not the game!” he called from a distance, but I wasn’t sure where.

I realized what he had meant and why he had pulled me out here. I laughed to myself. It felt like we were kids again. “Marco!”

“Polo!” he called.

I started running towards the sound of his voice, but once I lost a sense as to where he was, I called again, “Marco!” He replied, but in the opposite direction as where I had run to. Again, I yelled for him. He had me chasing him in circles for a good five minutes before I finally caught him by the peach trees. When I happened to stumble upon him, I found him down on one knee with a wedding ring in hand. My jaw fell and I felt myself become overwhelmed with emotion. “Elio…”

“I thought about what you said the first day I came back. It’s foolish and a waste of time to keep leaving you only for me to find you again. I’m sick of it. I want to be with you always. I want to go where you go, I want to do the things you do; and I would hope that you will return the favor. Follow me wherever I go, do the things I do. But, most importantly, do  _ this  _ with me. Marry me.”

“I—”

“Please say yes.”

“You think I would say anything other than yes, you fool?” I questioned. “You’re a mad man if you think anything of the sort.”

Elio climbed to his feet as I approached him. “Say it.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to marry you, Elio Perlman.”

Before he could even get the ring on my finger, his lips were on mine. “I love you,” he said to me, finally getting the ring on my finger.

“That’s not the game,” I smiled before dashing away from him.

Elio took me in that field that day. He asked me about the bugs with a laugh, and I told him I didn’t give a fuck about the bugs. When we went inside, we were both covered in sweat and dirt, and it was obvious what we had been doing. Miranda knew it, Annella knew it, and even Little Oliver knew it.

As Miranda started dinner, Elio and I made our way upstairs to finish what we had only just started in the orchard outside. We spent hours upstairs together, just as we had done when we were kids. And I couldn’t help but laugh every time after he emptied himself inside me. Was this my life now? Had I reached the dream of being glued to the mattress? Was I to be the stay-at-home mother? The thought made me wet for him again.

“Again?” he asked.

“Again,” I pounced.

We missed dinner, to no one’s surprise. After the moon had risen, Miranda burst into the room again without warning and told us that she had put a plate for each of us in the refrigerator. She also told us that if we woke Annella or Little Oliver in the night, she would make us sleep under the peach trees. Elio and I considered it. She huffed in defeat and slammed the door shut. “It better be the biggest goddamn ring I have ever seen!”

“It was your ring!” Elio yelled back in confusion.

Miranda huffed again in defeat.

Nearing 3AM, the house phone started ringing. Elio and I were far from tired, but we had heard Miranda’s warning, and though the phone was no fault of our own, we didn’t dare test her wrath. Elio, naked, ran from our room and to the nearest telephone. I listened carefully, upset that he had left me. “I’m here,” he whispered. There was a pause. Something was wrong. “Elio?” he gasped. I jumped from the bed and ran to the phone Elio had pressed against his ear. He accommodated so that I could also listen.

“It’s been a while, I know,” Oliver said. “Did I wake you?”

“Not entirely.”

“Are you upset?”

“No.”

“It must be 3AM there… I’m sorry to be calling so late.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elio insisted. “Why are you calling?”

Static for a beat. “I… I want to come home…” he whispered. I squeezed Elio’s shoulder. The dream.

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve left Micol,” he admitted. “Don’t wait up for me ," he said, almost afraid that we didn't believe him.

“Of course we’ll wait, Oliver. Waiting is all we’ve done. Why not wait a few more hours? You know where to find us?”

He hummed on the other end. “Are you alone?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Then, no. I’m not.”

“You’re both there, then?”

“Yes,” I chimed in. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?” I asked, just to ensure that I wasn’t dreaming yet. He hummed again. “When?”

“Soon.”

“You let us know, and I will pick you up from the airport,” Elio said.

“We’ll drive up the old gravel path once more.”

“You remember?”

“I remember. And I want to see the boy.”

Elio and I exchanged a glance.

“His name is Oliver,” I said. “He’s just like you.”

“Your father—” he began for Elio before choking up.

“Yes. He never forgot. He loved you like you were his own.”

“And I loved him as my own father.”

“Come home, Oliver,” I said.

“I am.”

“Find us.”

“I will.”

“Marco.”

“Polo.”


	9. 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

I just want to say thank you to everyone has followed this story since the beginning when I first posted it on Tumblr. It started off as just another one-shot story I thought I would never revisit. But here we are nearly two years later, and it's one of my most prized possessions. I can't believe I finally finished a story! And I'm just so proud of this book, I can not even put it into words.

I hope that you all have loved this story as much as I have. Elio and Oliver hold a special place in my heart, and will never fail to remind me what true, unconditional love looks like. It took them 20+ years to find each other, and it was all worth it.

Please take my story with a grain of salt. I am in no way trying to undermine the pure genius and magic that the books and the movie are-- but I do want this to be _my_ story, in a way. The reader is of my own creation, and I love her dearly. I knew that I wanted to put myself into this love story that had me so head over heels, so here we are. And I hope that you all could also put yourselves in the story, because my goal was to ride the fine line between a reader character and an OC.

Also, please know that no matter what, Oliver and Elio will be the main focus of every and all CMBYN stories you read. I chose to have Elio and the reader get engaged because it really shows that polyamory is real, and that it doesn't have to be one or the other. Elio, Oliver, and the reader all chose both-- and that's what this story is about. Choosing both.

~𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎~


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